


Asset : Longing & Rusted

by CherryNekow



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky whump, Bucky's life at Hydra, Gen, HYDRA Trash Party, Hydra (Marvel), Steve Rogers Feels, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-11-29 03:10:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11431917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryNekow/pseuds/CherryNekow
Summary: The Soldier has to obey. They use him. They hurt him. They mock him. They treat him like an animal. This shield..... But the Soldier has to obey. - WARNING : This story contains numerous descriptions of physical and psychological pain happening to the main character, if you are of a sensitive nature (which is perfectly fine), please be aware of that ! - During CATWS. Whump!Bucky.





	1. The Waking

 

  _\- The beginning of this story parralels the beginning from Captain America: The Winter Soldier, but will differ -_

 

_-_ _Disclaimer_ _: I don't own anything but my OCs, everything belongs to Marvel -_

_\- I am not a native speaker, so there will be some awkward phrases -_

_-_ _**Warning** _ _: this story contains numerous descriptions of physical and psychological pain happening to the main character, if you are of a sensitive nature -which is perfectly fine-, please be aware of that -_

 

* * *

 

**ASSET : LONGING & RUSTED**

 

_''Longing, Rusted, Seventeen, Daybreak, Furnace, Nine, Benign, Homecoming, One, Freight Car.''_

_"Желание. Ржавый. Семнадцать. Рассвет. Печь. Девять. Добросердечный. Возвращение на Родину. Один. Товарный вагон.''_

 

* * *

 

**Chapter 1 : The Waking**

 

"Hi Sally." Said an armed man while entering the cold room.

"Hi there Stephen. Here for the Asset ?" answered the petite blonde nurse.

"Yep, _icecube_ 's got a mission. Could you call Dr Gerhardt and Dr Deschamps ? He needs full check-up, order from above."

"Yeah sure, right away."

The nurse sat to her desk and dialled the first number. Stephen had to make sure she phoned the right people, it was protocol, they were both used to it. The blonde invited him to sit down on a corner of his desk, which he did with a bit of trouble, trying to find a comfortable way to rest in his anti-riot-like black suit, his helmet tight around his head, his rifle at his side. The ringing kept on going...

"So, how was your week end ?" asked Stephen as nobody was answering right away.

"Oh my, it was great, we had my sister and her kids over for Jenny's eighth birthday. Mike's parents were here too."

"Oh, little Jenny is eight already ? They grow up so fast, don't they ?"

"Yes, they do... How is your son Kent ?"

"He's doing great ! He actually made it into college !"

"Oh, really ?"

"Yeah, he got a football grant. Mary and I were actually worried that this kid wouldn't go that far."

"Oh, no, Kent is a clever boy. What about your elder, Tony ?"

"Well you know, this one doesn't work with school so much. He got an apprenticeship at a garage, and he's happy about it."

"Oh, that is just great you know. Are you coming to the meeting at 1pm ?"

"About the pension of class two employees ? Yeah, in what room ?"

"The lunch room."

"All right... not answering ?"

Sally hung up the phone, and dialled another number.

"Nah, I'll try with Dr Deschamps. "

The ringing stopped after two, and a charming voice with a French accent answered :

" _Dr Deschamps speaking."_

"Hello Doctor, this is Sally from ISFB, a mission has been set up, full check-up is needed."

" _I'll be there. Please phone my interns as well."_

"I'll do Ma'am."

Sally and Stephen kept on going on their conversation between the phone calls. Once everybody had been informed, Stephen left his colleague with a smile and a ''see you at one''. Thirty minutes later, the six trainees in their lab coats were in the Lab room. The trainees were revising their notes and reciting the protocol to each other, while their supervisors were running a bit late. They were standing next to the impressive machine, in the centre of which was a leaning chair. The cover of the chair had been changed several times already, but this one still had stains of sweat and blood from the last seance. It was surrounded by screens and operating pads, and one of the young lab coats had brought forward a large metal piece of furniture on wheels, and had conveniently placed tools and electrical elements, ready for use. The agent was the first to step in the large room. Agent Brock Rumlow had short dark brown hair, and was wearing his black tactical gear, two guns in his back, his fighting gloves on, ready to fight. He stepped between the silent youngs and looked around ?

" Where are Gerhardt and Deschamps ?"

They all gathered together, intimidated by the man, his large shoulders and his guns. After all, they were only lab students.

"C'mon you all, where are they ? And where is the Asset ?"

The bravest of them shyly stepped forward, and still without looking at the Agent, he answered :

"None of them is here, yet..."

Rumlow turned around in rage, and took out his radio from his belt. He pressed the button and yelled in it :

"Where is the asset?!"

" _Asset on the way sir."_ answered a male voice.

"And the doctors?!"

" _Doctors on the way sir_."

Rumlow rolled his eyes and sighed, it was not the first time he was the first present, and he particularly hated late people. After two minutes, his second in command Jack Rollins came in the room, followed by three men carrying on their shoulders another man, who seemed unconscious, and two women in lab coats. The first one, Doctor Claire Deschamps, was tall and blonde, her flat hair tied back in a high ponytail with a fluffy pink scrunchie. She had a cheerful face, as always, and was chatting with her brunette friend and colleague. Doctor Wilhelmina Gerhardt was quite the opposite of Claire. She had her dark hair up in a chignon, from which she fashionably always let some strands of hair fall around her face. She had a light make up : a bit of mascara and a discreet red lipstick. She always looked more or less stern, but smiled easily to those she liked.

"There you are !" grunted Rumlow. "You know this mission is important, right ?"

"Just like any other." answered Dr Gerhardt, not letting the fumes of the Agent affect her.

She indicated the seat to the armed men, and they put the unconscious man on it. Gerhardt waved a finger at the young lab coats, and they finally moved, still without a word, their notes back in their pockets.

"Tie him up, and so they can launch the waking sequence." ordered Deschamps, reviewing rapidly her table with tools.

The two doctors put on latex gloves, while their trainees were fumbling around the unconscious man.

"Could you speed up a little ?" snapped Agent Rumlow.

Deschamps and Gerhardt shared an understanding look. Every time they had to wake up the Asset, Rumlow would get nervous because they wouldn't go as fast as he would like them to. Gerhardt rolled her eyes and turned to the Agent :

"If you can do it yourself, then please do." she insisted with an unimpressed face. "Maybe your military experience is better than my PhDs in Neurosciences and Physiology."

"And my Engineering PhD." added Deschamps with a smile.

Rumlow turned around and left the room raging, ordering his second Rollins to warn him as soon as the Asset would be awake. The doctors couldn't help but snort a little, they were used to it, and it was their guilty pleasure to put him back in his place once in a while. As they were used to operate, Deschamps and one of her trainees were at the left of the chair, while Gerhardt and one of hers were at the right. The man was lying unconscious in the middle, metal cuffs locking him in the chair at his neck, torso, upper and lower arms, wrists, thighs, calves, and ankles. The man had a very fit body, sculpted by hours and hours of fighting training. However, he had a pale and scarred skin, as cold as ice. His pallid chest rose very slowly from the beginning of a respiration. He was just wearing a soaking wet old grey joggers pants, and he was bare feet. His dark hair fell to his shoulders, and he had a slight beard from last mission. His lips were blue, and there were dark circles around his eyes. His left shoulder had long purple scars that ran to its neck. To it was attached a metal arm, a work of art of engineering and technology, probably too advanced for this decade. On the side of the metal shoulder, a red star was painted, the size of a small hand. A small sport had been erased, and after seeing this, Deschamps took out the jar of red liquid metallic paint.

"Okay, Mady, where is the medical file ?" called Gerhardt.

"Here doctor." answered the trainee.

"All right."

The dark-haired woman opened the paper file, on which was written in English, German, and Russian '' _Asset: Winter Soldier_ ''. She ran through the notes of the last seance of last week, when they had put him back into the cryostasis chamber. She read thoroughly every line, her eyes narrowed by the concentration. She turned the pages in silence, while everybody seemed to wait for her. She turned the last few pages, and finally said to her interns :

"Okay, let's go. Hook him up, heart monitor and brain activity first. And turn on the 3D brain scanner, I want to see everything. You have one minute and thirty seconds."

Her three trainees moved quickly, it was not their first time, and each time Gerhardt would reduce the time to push them to do their best. The physiologist took out her stethoscope from her pocket, and listened to the heart, nodding in silence.

"Heart is slowly back with us. Lungs sound good so far."

She then checked the eyes. Electrodes were fixed on the unconscious man's chest to monitor his heart, and two long robotic arms were placed alongside his temples, locking his head.

"Irises responding to light stimulation in a perfect way, no brain damage due to cryostasis that we can see so far."

"Brain scanner ma'am."

Gerhardt turned to the screens, and analyzed the 3D image of her patient's brain. She made it turn by sliding her finger on the screen. She took another minute to make sure everything was in order.

"Charles, blood test. Finnick, general scanner on screen two."

Finnick, a young redhead man with the face of a boy went behind the leaning chair and turned on the scanner that stood above the man, while Charles, a blonde short man of almost thirty sampled blood from the non-metal arm of the man. He plugged the blood sample into a device attached to his tablet, and launched the search. Gerhardt could see the Asset's entire body through the scans now. She switched between skeleton and muscles several times, and without turning away from the screen and her detailing, she called :

"Charles, blood ?"

"In a second Ma'am... Here."

He taped on one corner of his screen, and the results appeared before her. She also read them thoroughly, and frowned at page two. Deschamps knew well every little face her friend Wilhelmina could pull, and asked her if something was wrong. She had not started her part yet, and was patiently waiting for Wilhelmina to allow her. Her tools were lined on the table behind her, her interns ready to hand out to her anything she could ask for.

"Hmmm..." answered Gerhardt, lost in her analyzing.

Deschamps let her ten more seconds before she couldn't help but asking with her happy face, as always:

"So what ?"

"Hmmm... His iron is a bit low, lower than usual, so is his calcium. Mady, IV lines for both."

Rollins stepped forward, his rifle ready. All the soldiers and the security guards would leave a safe space for the Lab crew to work. Rollins stood at the unconscious man's feet.

"Something wrong ?" he asked in a taut voice.

"Yes, I think that the subject is harder to wake up, seance after seance. "

"Something you can fix ?"

Rollins was always nice to Wilhelmina and Claire. He did not have his commander's temper, and was genuinely interested in what they were doing, not only keeping an eye on the Asset. Wilhelmina did smile, even if she did not turn to address to him because she was carefully watching the heart rate. He saw that, and smiled too.

"Jack, please, give me some credit." she snorted with affection. "By the time it'll be back I'll have that little problem figured out. For now it should be operational."

Rollins laughed a little, and went back to his spot, letting the interns work around the man. Gerhardt read the heart monitor, and asked her two interns to stand behind the chair, while she was watching the screens.

"Okay let's go. Launch solution one, in three, two, one..."

At the signal, Charles pushed the first piston of the three syringes above the man, tubed into his neck. The vital signs were steady, and the brain activity was making significant progress.

"Launch solution two in three, two, one..."

Finnick pushed the second piston. The solution slid from the syringe, through the tube, into the man's neck. The heart went up to a satisfying rate.

"Okay, now launch solution three in three, two, one..."

Charles pressed the last piston, and the grey-ish liquid poured down the tube.

"Ma'am..." said Mady as she was inserting the needle of the IV line into the slowly waking man's flesh arm.

"Yep, I saw."

"Is this my turn ?" cheerfully asked Deschamps.

"No, let me be sure it is in a good shape first."

She leaned over the man painfully opening his eyelids. He grunted weakly. She listened again to his heart as she was watching the heart monitor to be sure the detailing matched, and that it was satisfying enough. She put her stethoscope back in her pocket and smiled at her colleague :

"It's waking up. We'll keep monitoring brain activity and vital signs. Impulse should be operational in the arm, you guys can go."

Deschamps let out a silent '' _yes_ !'', and stood up. One of her young lab students put away the chair she was sitting on. Deschamps activated a hidden knob, and a panel opened at the back of the upper arm. With her gloved hands she made the arm turn in the cuffs to get a better view, and the man moaned with pain and discomfort. Deschamps did not pay any attention, as everyone in the room. The interns were too busy providing the doctors what they wanted, and the doctors were doing their science.

"Uh, great..." ranted Deschamps.

"What ?" asked Gerhardt, her eyes still focusing on the 3D brain scanner she was analyzing under every angle.

"This whole motherboard is wasted. _Someone_ didn't close it well last week."

She turned to her group of interns and detailed them with narrowed eyes who seemed to ask ''who did this?''. One of them, the girl, painfully hoped her hand up, and from a nod of her head, Deschamps indicated her the door. The girl swallowed down her tears and left the room without a word. The Doctor took out the whole motherboard and threw it on the table. One of her trainees threw it away while the other was handing out to her the first new components. Deschamps put her magnifying glasses on her nose, and started her work.

"Capacitors."

The trainee obliged without a word. The room was silent, if it wasn't for the clinking of Deschamps' instruments and the occasional pen scratches from Gerhardt who was filling another report. The man winced silently, his eyes still seemingly blurry. Mady came up to him and took out her light, with which she analyzed the blue irises. The man was taken by surprise and would have turned his head away, but he couldn't move an inch. He could only clench his jaw from the blinding light the young intern was imposing him. She let go after a few seconds, and checked the monitors above him. His head was turning, his mouth was dry. His whole body was cold as a stone. He was shaking. He was aching in every inch of his muscles. He felt uncomfortable in the wet joggers pants he was wearing.

"Pl... Pl..." he tried.

Gerhardt stood up and went behind him to verify the monitors, and Deschamps was silently working at his left.

His mouth was too dry, his throat too sore, and his vocal chords unable to produce any sound yet. Something was pushed in his arm and a sudden spasm of pain ran through his body, his muscles tensed, his fists closed hard on what they could find. But only his right fist. He could not feel beyond his left shoulder. Not yet.

"Uhhh!... Uhh!..."

Nothing but a husky breath could come out of his mouth. He followed the white spots walking around him with his blurry vision, trying to call for help with his eyes. He tried to move his feet but the cuff restraining his right ankle pressed against his bone and cut his skin.

"Uhhh!... uhhh..."

Deschamps looked up from the motherboard she was rebuilding from scratch.

"You know this little Italian restaurant on main street ?"

Wilhelmina gave a quick look at her friend :

"Hmm, no."

"I went there the other day with Danny. We had a great date night."

He still had no feeling in his left shoulder and arm. He managed to look at it, and it came back to him. His metal arm. But he couldn't feel a thing. Not yet. He blinked. Once, twice. His vision was coming back around, slowly. A blonde woman was leaned over his metal shoulder, her head tilted up to speak to the dark-haired woman at his right. He could barely hear now, only muffled sounds and indistinct voices. The leather armchair felt rash on the naked skin of his back. The cuffs were tight, he could barely move a finger.

"Uhh..." he tried one more time.

"You should come with us next time Mina."

"And be the third wheel ? No thanks."

"Lady, you won't be young and gorgeous forever. You need to hook some man if you want to be invited to our great date nights. I plan the greatest double date nights ever, remember ?"

"Last time I went to double date night with you, the guy had sex with the bartender in the back alley."

Claire shook her head laughing and looked down on her work again.

The man tried to push his right shoulder upwards to make the cuffs move a bit, but nothing he could do would make the thick metal move. He could finally feel his toes. He was cold. It was cold in here. He coughed a bit with the little saliva he had manage to generate. He tried again.

"Ple... plea..."

"Rollins, tell her to get a man." pleaded Claire.

"Doctor, get a man." the soldier gladly obeyed with a grin.

Wilhelmina rolled her eyes with a smile. She handed a page to Charles he had to fill in with temperatures fluctuations. She looked up to another screen.

"Brain activity is normal. Language area all clear. Vision, coordination, speech, smell, hearing, motor control, touch and pressure, body awareness, problem solving areas all clear as well. Facial recognition activated at 3%. Finnick, when at 10%, inject solution number six."

"Yes ma'am."

"Uhhh!... Uh-..."

"Or the new Korean restaurant, just a block away from your mom's." proposed Claire.

"Memory at 25%. Finnick, inject solution number eight to keep it down at 20%."

"Yes Ma'am."

"Mina! Korean!"

He was cold. He was so cold, he felt like he was drowning in a bath of ice, the freezing spikes piercing his skin. However, he didn't know what they were injecting him, but it made the inside of his head burn. He started to wince, and a half-voiced cry of pain made its way out of his lungs.

"I don't like Korean, you know that."

"Oh yeah ? And since when ? Last time you loved the kimchi I made you."

"Uhh!... Uhhh!..."

"It was because it didn't taste like kimchi."

"You're such a liar, I'm sure you love it."

"Memory down at 20% ma'am."

"Thank you Charles."

"Resistance number forty... Thank you."

He blinked. Again, and again, his mouth open to a void from which no sound could ever get out, or so it seemed. He contracted the muscles from his legs and right arm. The cuffs where tight and one cut his skin on his upper arm.

"Then what do you like ?"

"Uhhh... Uhh!..."

"Italian is good. But not with Danny."

"So... girls night ?"

"Maybe..."

"Are you keeping my fiancé out of this ?"

"I'm totally keeping your fiancé out of this."

"Doctor, subject is bleeding."

"Okay. Would you get me the results of brain activity from last minute ?"

"Right away Ma'am."

He opened his mouth and pushed on his abdomen to let any sound come out. Nothing but a weak breathe-out. He clenched his jaws with frustration. His hearing was almost to its full capacity now.

A radio buzzed in the room. He looked where the noise came from. Rollins took out his radio and pressed the button.

"Lab here... Still not done... Yes commander."

Rollins put his radio back in his belt.

"Pierce and Colonel Karpov are coming to activate the Asset. Are you done ?"

"In a minute !" answered Deschamps.

The women quickened their pace. A soldier had come forth with the asset's gear and mask, and put them on the floor, a metre away from the chair. They were all almost ready. Gerhardt finished filling this report, and checked herself the irises.

He was blinded. Again. For a few seconds. Then the light finally stopped. He looked at her with pleading eyes, but she payed no attention to his face.

"Wa... wat..."

She took off the robotic arms that were around his head, while Deschamps was interlocking the brand new motherboard into his arm.

He tried to yell in pain when the electric impulse ran through his arm to his head like a lightning bolt. Once. Twice. Then it was done. He could feel his left shoulder and arm, again.

She closed the panel and made sure it was safely shut.

He tensed his muscles, and the fingers responded. He could feel the leather under his cold metallic palm, the harshness of it, and the scratches somehow he knew he had made.

"Wa... water..."

Finnick faced his supervisor :

"He is probably dehydrated, and he needs to be in shape for talking."

Gerhardt raised her eyes from her report, and considered her intern for a second. She approved with a nod and he went to fetch a glass of water and a straw. The man sipped with despair, he was so thirsty. He had emptied the glass, and uttered :

"More... more..."

That is when the door slammed open, Agent Rumlow at the head of the group of newcomers, followed by a few soldiers in anti-riot-like gear, rifles and guns ready to be used.

The man tried one more time to catch the redhead's eyes but the latter stood silently next to the machine. He reported his attention on the men that just came in.

Armed men. He couldn't tell how much, but more than twenty that was for sure. And an old man with blonde hair in a three-pieces grey suit stepped up to him. He took off his glasses to take a better look at him.

"Is he awake ?" he asked with an authoritarian voice.

"And ready to obey, Mister Pierce." answered Gerhardt, her hands in her pockets.

Alexander Pierce sat by the side of the man. He detailed him with a shark smile. He handed out his hand, and let his fingers slid against the metal arm.

The man felt the warm rippled skin. The presence of the man was pushing him to admiration, to see how stunning and how strong he appeared, how determined his voice was.

"The advances in technology and medicine in this facility are... still really impressive. Doctor ?"

Gerhardt stepped up.

"Yes sir?"

"Colonel Karpov had to turn around to manage another issue. Will you activate the soldier ?

"Sure."

For the first time he had opened his eyes, the dark-haired doctor turned to him, and looked at him straight in his eyes, as if she had suddenly noticed he was here. He could stand her hard black gaze. He felt it was not the first time he did.

" _Zhelanie."_

The first work shook him. His mouth twitched.

" _R_ _zhaviy_."

He didn't understand. His head fell back on the chair's head rest and another spasm ran through his limbs.

" _Semnatsit._ _Rassvet. Pyetch_."

His metal fist tried to force his way out of the cuff, but still couldn't.

" _Deviyt_. _Dobraserdetchniy. Vozrashtshenie na radnu"_

A terrible pain trapped his head like a wolf trying to claw his way out of his skull. The man couldn't help but yell in pain at the top of his lungs, pushing against the cuffs in vain.

" _Adin"_

The spasm shook his head, then his chest and arms, and his entire body.

" _Tavarniy vagon_."

.

The Soldier opened his eyes. In front of him was standing Alexander Pierce, whose words he had to follow. Behind him, Agent Rumlow, whose orders he had to obey.

"New mission for you, Soldier", announced Pierce. "Uncuff him."

Deschamps made a sign to the young lab coats. They gathered around the Soldier. They removed the electrodes on his chest, and the IV lines in his arm. Then, they pressed the buttons, and the cuffs slid away. All the thirty soldiers present raised their guns to aim at the man, ready to shoot him, in case he would try anything their boss wouldn't like.

"Stand", commanded Pierce.

His empty eyes looking at the ground, the Soldier leaned on the arm rests, and stood straight in front of the numerous soldiers aiming directly at him, in his dripping wet jog pants. His head felt heavy. His respiration was slow and deep.

"Undress", ordered Pierce, pointing at the clothes on the floor just a metre away from him.

The man took a second, his eyes narrowed at the dark pile. His mind was dark too. Just dark. He looked up at Pierce for a second, and a feeling of authority and greatness ran through his brain. He looked at Rumlow, and the feeling of violence twitched his bottom lip. He looked at the dark-haired woman's grim face, and the feeling of pain tensed his spine. He looked away, afraid that the pain would come, not only the feeling of it.

"Soldier, obey!" barked Pierce.

He looked down at the pile of clothes. Then he knew what he was supposed to do. He pinched the elastic of his jog pants between his flesh and metal fingers, and let it slide along his legs. Naked, his pants down to his ankles, the Soldier knew he had to wait now. The air was cold, and his pallid body shivered. Pierce made a sign at Dr Gerhardt :

"As the protocol says, last physical exam."

Dr Gerhardt, her face as neutral as usual, took out her stethoscope. She stuck the cold bit between his shoulder blades. The cold touch was disagreeable to him, but he didn't show it. She listened for a few inspirations, then listened again to his heart for thirty seconds. She palpated the muscles of his arm, back, abdomen, and legs. Her intern handed out to her a small device with a needle at the end, that she stuck into the man's side, and waited for the results, in absolute silence, aimed at by every weapon in this room.

It hurt him. The needle hurt him. But he didn't move, his eyes as empty as his mind, his mouth slightly opened. His eyes were going from one rifle to another. They conveyed a feeling of pain too, and of violence, and the usual iron taste and smell of blood seemed to fill his mouth and nose. He was used to hurting. It was never agreeable, but it wasn't new.

The device beeped. Gerhardt read the results, then put the device back in her pocket, leaving a small red point under the man's rib. She turned to Pierce.

"Heart, lungs, muscles, and blood all clear, sir", she assured with a monotonous tone.

"Fine, you may leave, doctors."

Deschamps and Gerhardt left the premises without another word. The interns were silently putting everything away and throwing away what needed to be. Then they left the room like ghosts. Alexander Pierce looked straight at the naked man with the blank face standing in front of him.

"We have your next target. Captain Steve Rogers."

 

* * *

 

**Hey everyone ! Thank you so much for reading this first chapter !  
**

**I hope you enjoyed it, there will be another chapter soon. I always write a few chapters in advance so I have extra time to proofread storyline and grammar/vocab. I have two other ff works in writing plus some personnal projects, plus a memoire, so I won't be able to update every week :/. I usually update every three/four weeks tops.**

**Anyway ! Please consider following/fave' so you will be told as soon as the next chapter will come out ! Please review, I'd absolutely love to hear what you guys think of it, and how I could make this better ! Any suggestion or critique is good !**

**See you guys soon °(^_^)° !**

 


	2. The Mission

 

 

**Chapter 2 : The Mission**

 

He was sitting in the back of the black SUV. He had put on the dark clothes. He had been given his usual weapons, rifle, mini-gun, gun, grenades, knife. His boots were laced tights around his ankles. His black mask was covering his lower face, and his goggles before his eyes were steady. The men around him were speaking low. They were almost there.

He was focused. He had a mission. He had to kill Steve Rogers. There was a picture of him in the file Pierce had shown him while he was dressing up. He was tall and muscular, with blue eyes and short blond hair, and wore blue. Steve Rogers. In the picture he had a round shield, blue, white and red, with a white start in the middle. He had focused on the man's face, but it came with no feeling except the urge of succeeding in the mission he had been given.

Rumlow was here. And so was Rollins, and two other men. Rollins and a man sitting at the front, the first was driving. Him, Rumlow, and a man were sitting at the back. The plan was to track the target and kill him. Steve Rogers was his target. Pierce had said it was his target to kill. He had to obey Pierce. He knew he had to accomplish this mission for Pierce.

The SUV stopped, and Rumlow grabbed the Soldier by his scalp, ready to push him out of the car. It hurt, but he didn't say a word. Rumlow did that every time. The door opened, and Rumlow pushed him outside, following him with the other men. The Soldier stood up, he was in the middle of the road, in a busy street of a city centre, the SUV had stopped there. People were walking past, wondering why they had stopped there. The sun was bright. It blinded him for a second. It had been quite a long time since he had been out in the sun, during the day, like this. A mother was pushing a stroller. Two old men were walking at their own slow pace, giving him a funny look. That's when Rumlow took out his rifle and shot several times in the crowd that the cries began. They all started to run, in every direction. Rollins took out his ringing phone.

"Yeah ? ... What do you mean on the bridge ?" he snapped "oh c'mon...", then he turned to Rumlow : "Rogers is on the highway. Romanoff, Sitwell, and some other dude are with him".

Rumlow groaned and rolled his eyes. He pushed the Asset back into the SUV, and sat next to him. Rollins and the two men with them hopped back into the car and hurried to the highway.

It was another drive, but shorter. They arrived on the highway. Cars were passing by, yellow, blue, white, and red, but the Soldier was focused on only one thing : his target. It was the only thing he had to do, and he would do it, just like every other mission he had successfully finished. When Rumlow had confirmation the grey car in front of them was the one they were looking for, he opened the glass roof of the car and pushed the Soldier up.

He got onto the SUV's roof, and walked carefully to the hood. His eyes were locked on the blond hair he could see in the front passenger seat of the car. A command came into his ear : "Kill the bald man and the woman too."

He frowned. "They are not the targets." He answered. "They are too, now." Barked Rumlow in his intercom.

He did not like this very much. But an order had been given, and he had to obey. The SUV got near enough. Inside the grey car, they looked like they were arguing. They did not pay attention when he stealthily hopped onto the grey car's roof. He secured his position, and drove his metal arm through the back-left window.

He heard a cry of surprise, and felt under his cold metal touch a collar and a tie. He grabbed it, and took the bald man out from the car through the broken window, before throwing him into the traffic. He heard a scream when he took out his gun and shoot through the roof of the car. He heard rumbling. Nobody was touched by the bullets.

The black man behind the wheel braked brutally, and the Soldier was projected forward onto the asphalt. His metal arm slowed him down, and he rose up. He saw clearly his targets. Steve Rogers, and the woman. He saw the redheaded female trying to hold up a gun, but the black SUV drove into them from the back. He tilted his head a bit as he was calculating his jump. He leaped up on the roof of the grey car again.

These were stubborn. They wouldn't let themselves be pushed around like others would sometimes. He could feel his metal arm get warmer with the friction of the road from earlier. It slightly burnt the skin where the limb was attached to with a disagreeable smell. He clenched his jaw from the pain, but went on with his task. His very important task. He had been given an order. A mission. He would accomplish it.

He drove his left hand into the windshield, and seized the wheel in his metallic fingers. He threw it out, and escaped a few bullets from the woman by jumping back on the SUV's hood. The car in front of them slowed down, and Rollins drove into it to make the machine collide into the median strip. The car did a barrel roll, and Rollins braked when he saw the three passengers jump out on the road on a detached car door. The black man let it go after the impact, but the blond man and the redhead continued sliding for a few metres.

He jumped off the hood, and was handed a grenade rifle. He aimed at the two, and pulled the trigger. The blond man pushed the redhead away, and protected himself with his shield. That shield. Blue, white, and red. With a white star at the centre... He shuddered and focused again on his targets, as the man had flown off the bridge onto the road under the bridge. He shot another grenade at the redhead, who was trying to fire at them with a gun. Another grenade, and she too fell off the bridge.

"Get them." ordered Rumlow. Rollins handed him a machine gun. He attached the grenade launcher in his back. He grabbed the weapon, and stood near the edge of the bridge, looking for his targets.

He felt the flames of the burning cars at the back of his head. It was hot. Too hot for him. He was sweating in his black suit, but he had to focus. He squinted behind his goggles. He could feel it now. The violence. The blood, the screams of pain and terror behind him.

Lost in the feelings surrounded him, he did not have time to replicate when the woman appeared from under the bridge and shot straight at his head. The shock made him take a few steps back, and sit behind the wall. His goggles were fissured. That woman could really aim. He noted that he had to be careful around her. He took off his goggles and threw them on the ground.

He got up, and fired directly at her. This woman was in his way to his primary target. He needed her out first.

" _Ж_ _енщинa меня, найти его_." The Soldier said to Rumlow. He jumped off the bridge onto a car, his machine gun in his right hand. He was followed by Rumlow, Rollins, and the two other men.

He walked up the road. She was hiding. He had to find her. His metal arm was a bit cooler now, and the burning feeling had diminished a bit. He launched a grenade at an upcoming police car without slowing down his pace. He was walking straight, his eyes searching every nook she could be hiding in. He reloaded. A man ran past him crying, but he didn't mind him. He had to kill _her_. People were hastily leaving their cars before him, running away. He slowed down his breathing, and heard a weak voice. It was hers, he recognized it from earlier. He stopped. The voice was two cars away. He took a grenade at the back of his belt, squatted, and let it roll under the first car to the next. The grenade exploded, in a big fire, but something was unusual. He barely had time to turn around that the woman was already on him, jumping on his shoulders. They fought, but she managed to get free, and to throw something at him. The little electronic disc stuck to his metal arm and sent electric waves up and down his arm. He winced in pain, the lightening bolt suffering again, running from his arm and into his skull. He moaned in pain as his remaining nerves and the artificial nerves were surcharged with electricity. He grasped the little disc with his flesh arm, and finally managed to take it off.

His arm. His left arm. Something was wrong. The electric lashes of pain were gone, but his arm was twitching, his hand rotating from left to right. He shook it brutally, and the hand stopped its nonsense. He had lost strength in his arm, and the pain was still here. It hurt. It hurt so much. His knees had shaken for a second, but he remembered the order. He had to complete the mission. He _had_ _to_.

He stretched his arm, and went after the woman. She was running in front of him. He aimed at her, took a second to adjust his shot, and pulled the trigger. He shot her right in the shoulder, and she collapsed behind a car. He jumped onto another car to have a better angle to exterminate this target, but fast foot steps were running towards him. He turned his head, it was the man, shield first, sprinting to him. The Soldier hit his shield with his metal fist to stop him.

The pain ran from his knuckles up to his neck, striking his brain like a stab. His head turned for a second, but his target was here. _His_ _target_ was _here_. The target had to be exterminated. Now.

He pushed away the shield and the man onto the asphalt, and shot at them. The man hid behind his shield. His shield, blue, white, and red, with a white star in the middle... The man ran to him again, hitting him with his fists.

He was strong, almost as strong as he was, and his shield was hard and painful to be stricken with. They fought for a couple of seconds. The Soldier threw bad blows but he received some too, at his abdomen, at his head, again, and again, and again. His skull was buzzing and his vision was starting to blur. He had to obey. He had to obey. He had to obey.

Mission.

Target.

_Mission._

_Target..._

He was projected against a van, and fell on his behind. The back of his head had hit the van with great force, and he could feel the warm blood running down his neck.

His target came at him. And hit. And hit. And hit. He could only see stains of colour now, and could barely activate his reflexes, but he managed to stop one of the man's harsh blows, and sent him away.

He took a deep breath, and concentrated on his task, trying to ignore the blood leaking from his head and the electrical waves torturing his arm, shoulder, and neck. He gritted his teeth, and attacked the blond man again.

He was fast, as fast as he was, and he didn't seem to feel pain. He had always manage to read the pain and fear on his targets' faces, but this one was determined to destroy him, and beat him down.

His abilities with his knife did not help, the target was blocking every one of his hits, one after the other. During a second the Soldier tried to yield his fist, the target drove his shield, blue, white, and red, with a white star at the centre... He drove it into the metal arm.

Another painful wave made his arm twitch, and as the electrical impulse ran again through the nerves to his brain he groaned in pain. He retained himself to fall on his knees under the shock, and felt the blood run in his mouth and drip from his lips.

_Mission._

_Target._

_Mission._

_Target._

The man punched him and pushed him forward, and he barely had time to roll back. His mask had detached from his face because of the blow.

The suffering. His incapacity to overcome his adversary. He was failing. Failing. _Failing_. He could _not_ fail. He had receive a mission.

Mission.

Target.

He stood up, and turned to the man, determined despite the blood running in his back and on his chin to succeed in his task. He looked at the man.

The man tensed, his eyes widened, he let his arms fall at his side. He seemed in shock, all of a sudden. The Soldier tilted his head on the side, narrowing his eyes to try to understand that expression. What had happened ?

"Bucky ?" The man uttered under his breath.

Mission.

Target.

The Soldier grasped his gun. "Who the hell is Bucky?", he mumbled in return, frowning at this name that felt like nothing to him. He aimed at his target. That was it. The man was too much in shock to realize in time. He was going to succeed in his mission. He was going to obey the order. Him, then the woman, then he would be...

Something attacked him from behind and he fell hard on the ground. He could stand up again the second after and faced his target, still in shock, straight in the eyes.

This look.

Those blue eyes.

They came with a feeling. A very muffled and indistinct feeling from deep down his guts. He had never felt this feeling before. He looked down. _Look_. _Blue eyes_. _Feeling_.

Mission.

Target.

He held up his gun and pointed it at the man. But he didn't have time to pull the trigger, a grenade was flying to him. He jumped back. The car next to him exploded. The flames licked his face, and the dizziness came back. He fell on his back, and his head hit the asphalt under him. He saw from a corner of his blurry vision the black SUVs and the armed men jumping out of them, rifles up, pointed at his targets. He heard the voices of Rumlow and Rollins pass by him while yelling " _Drop the shield ! Get on your knees !_ ", " _On your knees!_ ". The propellers of a helicopter echoed through his brain, as the pain from the electrical waves ran through his body, shaking him like a seizure, each wave harder than the former. He moaned in pain and tried rolling on his side, but the suffering was taking on his entire body, paralysing him. His metal arm was heating up by the car burning next to him, and soon he felt like the skin at the juncture of the metal shoulder was boiling, the nerves still under the power of the electrical waves ; he screamed, the pain occupying his whole mind like the devil was replacing his cells with hot embers, burning him from inside, he screamed again, and again, and again... The electrical components had melted, and he could no longer move his left arm, helplessly enduring the boiling of his flesh.

Finally, after what seemed a century of torments, a man grabbed his other shoulder and dragged him away from the burning car. Another man came, and quickly opened a bottle of water that he poured on the Soldier's fuming shoulder.

The freezing bite of the water made him strangle himself on his own scream, and he passed out, his body still moved by the electrical waves.

"Oh _shite_..." said the first man with a seemingly Irish accent. "Alex, _goddammit_!" The second man raised his eyebrows with a sorry smile. "The docs are definitely going to kill me, he's in a pretty bad shape." Rollins came over next.

"What's wrong with him ?" he asked in a taut voice. "He was in the flames, we dragged him out.", answered the Irish. Rollins knelt next to the Soldier, took his chin between his fingers, and made his head turn. "Uh... Yeah, Mina and Claire are definitely going to kill you, he was brand new this morning. Did he pass out?" The second man uttered a sorry "Yes." and Rollins rolled his eyes. He asked them to help him up and to load him discreetly in one of the cars quickly before the medias' helicopter would film them.

* * *

The burning pain was what he felt first. His shoulder, it was hot, boiling hot. And the great lashes of pain started to strike him like a piked whip again. He opened his eyes. They were blurry, blurry, everything was blurry all around him, because of the hits, because of the blinding suffering seizing his entire body. He locked his fists closed and let out a terrible yell, pleading for all this pain to stop. Everything was moving fast around him, faces were above him. Voices, voices, voices around. He couldn't catch what they were saying. Everything was moving around him, everything, everything, moving... In a flash of light, he saw the shield, _blue, white and red, with a white star in the middle..._ Another painful electrical wave ran from his left fist through his body like a tsunami, and before he could scream, someone stuffed something in his mouth to keep him quiet. He could not move, he felt restrains around his arms and legs. The restrains were tight. Tight. Too tight. The one at his ankle was so tight he could barely feel his foot, let alone move it.

"Yeah, on our way, almost there." He heard at his right.

He knew this voice. He had heard it before. Above the pain, he felt he had to obey it, it was Rollins' voice. He heard doors open, and was ushered into a room. It smelled like chloroform and blood. The lights at the ceiling blinded him.

"Tie him up."

The restrains were detached, and he was shoved onto a leaning chair. He recognized the harshness of it, and that it smelled like sweat, and felt like bad news for him. White stains in his vision moved around him and cut his clothes open.

"What have you done to my work ?!" groaned a stern voice above him.

"He met the Captain."

"I see... Detailing of the wounds." she demanded

"Subject seems to be suffering from a serious commotion, first degree burns on the left side of the face, second degree burns on the junction area and on the side of the left thigh." responded a first voice.

"Probably one or two broken ribs." added a voice while he felt clumsy fingers palpating his painful right side.

"No sign of collapsed lung." indicated a third voice.

"Brain and general scanner, now. Blood test."

A cold disc of metal hit the skin above his heart and he winced. His head was buzzing, he felt the blood stuck in his hair and stuck at the head rest, and along his chin and neck line.

"Claire, what do you got ?"

"Motherboard is fried... and has melted into the mechanical matrix." answered a voice with a French accent.

"Take it off so the burns can be taken care of."

"Got it."

An electrical seizure shook his body and he bit on the cloth he had in his mouth, screaming through it ; he tried to force on his right arm to put his flesh hand on his shoulder to stop the pain, and the cuffs gave way. He grabbed his shoulder with his hand, and for a second the pain diminished, just a little bit. Another hand attached to a figure in white with red hair tried to force his arm back into the cuffs, so he grabbed the throat next to the red hair and gripped tighter around the neck with his powerful fingers. He felt the man strangle himself on his words, his air completely stopped.

He immediately felt the fangs of a taser bite into his skin and the electrical impulse knocked him unconscious for a couple of seconds. _That face. That look. Those blue eyes. This forgotten feeling..._ When he came to soon after, he was tightly restrained on the leaning chair. His vision had cleared up a little. The raging face of Rumlow was watching over him with disgust in his eyes. "Fucking tin can..." he mumbled between his teeth.

"Get back!", barked the blonde woman in a white lab coat at his feet. "You've done enough already. Look at all this engineering that you wasted ! Do you have even the slightest idea how much a single finger is worth of money and work ?!" She pushed Rumlow away with her shoulder to sit on his left. She put some gloves on and tried to open the melted controlling panel.

The machine attached to him, reluctant, sent another electrical wave up his arm and neck and he screamed to death, it was unbearable, unbearable, _unbearable_. He clenched his fist, he had to take it off, he had to, he had to, it was painful, _it was so painful_... He yelled again, in despair, tears falling down his dirty cheeks, the taste of blood and salt melting on his tongue.

"Ugh, there's a lot of noise..." complained the blonde doctor.

"Nothing I can't fix." answered the stern brunette. He followed her voice with his eyes as he saw her prepare a needle filled with a yellow-ish liquid. He looked at it closely. He didn't like it. He felt it, in his guts, this liquid, it was bad, it was bad, _it was bad_...

While looking up to the monitors, the dark-haired woman stuck the needle in his arm, as he pleaded with a muffled scream and all his heart and eyes.

The effects were quick. Just after the needle had come out of his arm, he felt it, the numb. It took his arm, then his shoulder, chest, legs, and soon, his head. His whole body was limp. He couldn't move an inch, not with great effort, he couldn't move anything under his knees anymore, let alone his right hand. Unfortunately, it didn't stop the pain. The electric waves kept coming in, and it was even worse when the blonde doctor was fidgeting in his recalcitrant arm. He wanted to scream, but he could barely open his mouth anymore, or contract his diaphragm. _The shield, blue, white, and red, with a white star in the middle_... His body was repetitively shaken by the seizures, but now he was helpless against them. His mind was screeching, and the wolf trying to claw his way out of his skull was back again, scratching against his bones and skin. He could only blink from the stream of tears pouring down his cheeks, his mouth half-open that could only let out a small indistinguishable moan of pain.

All he could hear now was the female voices speaking above him, and some laughs further away in the room. A man came closer with a sigh.

"Ugh, it's in a pretty bad shape."

"Yeah. We need to update it.", answered the female voice at his right.

A little silence followed, then the voice with the French accent :

"You still haven't answered, Mina."

"About what ? Restaurant ? I'm not going to your French restaurant. Snails and stuff, it sounds gross. I like the Italian."

Another wave came over him and tensed his spine uncontrollably.

"Ugh, ok, Italian. You're sure you don't want a double date night ?"

"Oh yeah ? And with who could I come ?" responded the mockingly fed-up stern voice.

The French sighed, and turned to the soldier at his feet.

"Rollins, you like Italian ?"

"I sure do." answered the deep voice with a smile.

He wished he could move, just a little bit, just slightly, just a millimetre, maybe if he shifted his position, he could feel just a little bit better...

"There you go, you can bring Rollins !"

"Oh, no, Rollins, I wouldn't want to inflict you that."

"What do you mean _inflict_ ?"

_It hurt, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt,_ _**it hurt, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt...** _

"I'd love to, really, I insist !"

"Okay, fine, Claire !"

"Tonight at 7pm ?"

"Fine..."

The blonde doctor pushed a last button, and detached the arm.

The excruciating electrical lashes of pain finally stopped. Finally... He sobbed in relief, _finally, finally_ , the pain had left. He felt his head light due to the sudden alleviation, and he felt like he hadn't really breathe for hours. _This face. That look. Those blue eyes. This forgotten feeling..._ His head fell on his right side, as his respiration slowed down. The other wounds were starting to stand out, but even if a couple of broken ribs were rather disagreeable, it was mere discomfort after what he had just gone through.

Tied down to the chair, he felt the lab coats patch him up and sticking different IV lines into his arm to solve this or that. The numb was starting to wear off just a bit, and he managed to bend some of his fingers. He tilted up his head a bit when he heard Rumlow's footsteps come forward.

"Pierce is on the way for the Asset's return." he informed the Lab crew with a harsh voice.

"Okay." answered the blonde woman, working on the arm two meters away from the leaning chair, surrounded by two other lab coats.

Silence fell in the room again, for a moment. He winced sometimes when they were sewing him up and could moan in discomfort, bot none of his little sounds was considered, as always.

Some steps were heard, and the doors opened, and Alexander Pierce enterde, followed by two armed men in black suits.

"Sir, he's unstable..." tried a lab coat. Alexander Pierce glanced at the intern with a condescending look, and the dark-haired doctor pushed the intern back in his place with a dry comment.

Rumlow untied the cuffs and grabbed the Soldier's hair in his brutal fist, to make him sit up and face Alexander Pierce. The rugged face of the old blonde man faced him.

"Mission report" he demanded.

The Soldier blinked a few times and took a deep breath, but couldn't answer yet. Rumlow gripped his hair tight, it was like he was trying to rip off his scalp. He couldn't answer yet. A question was burning his lips.

Alexander Pierce handed out his hand and slapped him across the face.

"Mission report, now !" he added with gritted teeth.

The Soldier finally looked up to him, and with a trembling chin he asked :

"The man on the bridge... who was he?"

Alexander Pierced sighed and straightened up.

"You met him earlier this week on another assignment."

He looked down at his feet. He had ? Was that why he had this muffled feeling coming from his guts ?

"I knew him", he added softly, his eyes lost in memories he didn't have.

Pierce waved at an armed man to bring him a chair. He sat down facing the Soldier, and looked at him with his lips tight with anger :

"Your work has been a gift to mankind. You shaped this century. And I need you to do it one more time. Society is at a tipping point between order and chaos. We're gonna give it a push.

_This shield, blue, white, and red, with a white star in the middle..._

"But, if you don't play your part, I can't do mine, and HYDRA can't give the world the freedom it deserves."

The Soldier bit his lip.

"But I knew him." he insisted, still not too loud. He felt Pierce was on edge, and his hand ready to throw another slap. Pierce sighed and got up. Rumlow let go of the Soldier's hair and stood behind Pierce, looking at the Soldier arms crossed, face closed, a disgusted curve on his mouth. The old blond man face the dark-haired doctor.

"Prep him."

She shook her head : "He's been out of cryofreeze too long." Pierce rolled his eyes, and considered the Soldier, sitting on the chair, a sad and confused look in his eyes.

"Then wipe him, and start over."

"Yes, sir." she responded.

She sat facing the monitors, as the interns pushed the Soldier back into the chair, and activated the cuffs, that rolled back on around his limbs. The redhead whose throat he had grabbed earlier approached a small rubber semi-circle from his mouth. He pouted. He knew what was following this. He didn't want this to happen, but he opened his mouth anyway, and the intern put the rubber thing in his mouth.

"Memory erasing sequence, initiating." announced the doctor at his right, still without a look for him.

Two robotic arms came down on him, and stuck to the sides of his head. He gave the rubber semi-circle a squish between his teeth. He felt his spine tense from the oncoming pain.

"Lauching in three, two, one..."

The current ran through his head like a burning spike piercing his brain, frying up his cells like the furnace of Hell, boiling his skin to the highest temperature. He screamed his lungs out _hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt_ , again, and again, and again. _The shield, blue, white, red, with a white star in the middle..._ The robotic arms were squeezing his head, not letting him move an inch, condemning him to the ardent pain and nothing else ; nothing else but brutality, _this shield, blue, white, red, with a white star in the middle..._ his vision blurred, and his mouth was filled with the taste of blood.

Pierce and Rumlow, both satisfied little smiles on their faces, left the room.

"Countdown to finish. Ten, nine, eight..."

The current took his brain away, and he could smell the burnt flesh and hair, red saliva dripping out of his mouth as he clenched his jaw as hard as he could, screaming his lungs out.

"Seven, six, ..."

 

* * *

 

**Hi everybody ! Thank you so much for reading this chapter ! I hope you enjoy the story for now ! Please consider reviewing about anything really, I'd absolutely love to know what you think of it :D ! Please follow/favourite so you will be told as soon as the next chapter will come out !  
See you next chapter ;) !**


	3. The Box

 

**Chapter 3 : The Box**

 

"...three, two, one. Memory erasing process, completed." announced a female voice at his right.

He breathed in, one, twice. He winced from the remaining pain. Remaining pain... because of what ?... He opened his eyes. A woman in a white lab coat was examining his eyes with a small lamp. Right pupil. Left pupil. The pressure around his head suddenly let go as he heard a robotic sound behind him.

"No neural damage for now." the dark-haired woman said. She scribbled something on a file, that she then pushed into the hands of a young man with red hair behind her.

He bent his fingers. But only five responded. He took a look on the left arm rest. There was no arm. He had a heartbeat of panic, but then he thought they must have taken off this metal arm off for repairs. He knew that they regularly did. He coughed, something was obstructing his throat. He spat out red saliva on his chest. He frowned. Where did that come from ? He felt a really heavy discomfort at every of his breathing. His abdomen was bruised in several places, and patches of his skin were burnt. Greasy grey ointment had been applied to the damaged skin. A needle was stuck in his neck and he hissed a " _aouch!_ " at a young unimpressed girl in white.

His stomach growled. He was hungry. It suddenly overwhelmed him : he was hungry, hungry like a wolf that had not eaten for weeks. He doubt the doctors would feed him. The doctors never fed him. It was only when he was in his Box that he was fed, and by the guards. He pouted. He hoped they would give him meat. When he came back from a successful mission they would give him meat. And bread. His stomach growled again. He tried to catch the eyes of one of the lab coats, but none was paying any attention to him. Maybe to his IV lines and wounds, but not to him. He could see his arm a few meters away. He hoped they would give it back to him before they took him to the Box.

He felt his body relaxing. Maybe the effect of the last needle that was dug into his neck a minute earlier. The dark-haired doctor took out the IV lines in his right arm. She pressed a little cotton ball with alcohol on the little red point. She stuck one last time the cold metal disc on his chest for a minute, looking at her watch. She then ungraciously opened his mouth to check his teeth. She had a satisfactory grunt and sat next to him, facing her screen, filling up a report rapidly.

"Good to go for me." she announced.

"All right, our turn now" Rollins took over. He waved at the interns.

The cuffs slid away. Even if he had wanted to run his body wouldn't be able to. He was not completely numb, but it was like his feet had been tied to an anvil that he was too tired to fight off.

"Up." ordered Rollins.

The Soldier sat up with difficulty. He slipped on his feet onto the tiled floor. He took a step forward. All the rifles in the room were pointing at him. He felt the threat and the nervousness of the men in front of him. They knew _he_ knew he could kill half of them and sent the other half straight to the hospital in less than five minutes. His body shivered. The room and the floor were cold, but the air conditioning made it ever colder, letting a cool flow of air run above their heads.

"Strip." barked Rollins, following protocol.

He looked up. He knew what he had to do. With his one arm he took off the different layers of blood-soaked tactical gear, that the doctors had already cut open to heal him. He unbuckled the strap around his waist, and let the vest fall on the floor. He winced as his ribs hurt. He unlaced the tactical boots and pushed the shoes off his feet. Then he unbuttoned his pants, and pushed them down. He stepped out of the pants and stood silently, naked, under the threat of the dark maws of the guns pointing at him, waiting for the next command, his head tilted down, his hair cluttered by his dry blood framing his dirty face. Rollins was given a bag of clothes, that he threw at the Soldier, who caught it last second with one hand.

"Dress up _wormface_."

Two soldiers at the back chuckled at the nickname, and Rollins flaunted a lop-sided smile, contempt with himself. The new grey jog pants dropped from his hand. He managed to keep the white wife-beater between his fingers, and put in on. He leaned down, and caught the jog pants. He put his two feet in the two holes and wiggled a bit to pulled it up, under the attention of every eye in the room. With only one hand, it was harder to dress up, but nothing he couldn't do.

"Ok now time to be a good boy and to head for the box."

He tried to take a step forward, but in the confusion of his mind he suddenly tripped on his own foot, tried to hand out his palm to the chair on his left to catch himself, but his reflexes had forgotten he had no arm, and he miserably fell on the floor. His sensitive burnt shoulder was the first to hit the cold tiles, then his head.

It triggered great hilarity among the armed men, who laughed out loud at him. Rollins screamed in laughter, tears in his eyes, as he was looking down on the pale confused man down on the floor.

"Good Lord, he managed to forget he had lost an arm, oh my !"

His head buzzed and his vision blurred suddenly as the shock took him by surprise. The freezing touch of the floor bit him like a snake, as the laughter around him echoed through his skull. He slowly rolled on his back, out of breath.

Another soldier came up to Jack and patted his superior's shoulder : "It's so miserable, look at that ! I can't believe this is our _greatest_ Asset !"

The second in command ran on : "Pathetic !".

The Soldier tried to sit up, wincing due to the sudden blow to his scarred shoulder, and was attempting to use his remaining arm to stabilize himself, when the second armed man pushed him back down with his boot. The whole crowd's laughter doubled as they saw the pale man roll on the floor. Jack Rollins had to squat down, incapable of stopping himself from laughing at the confused look on the Soldier's face. Finally, after managing to calm down his giggles a minute later, he took out his gun out of safety, and called at the Soldier, lying on the floor.

"C'mon, get up, time to put the devil back in its box."

The Soldier looked up. He clenched his jaw. He felt the humiliation sticking to him like tar, because of all the laughing that were destined to mock him openly. He tightened his fist. He did not want to let them do that. It had went on for too long.

But he had no choice but to comply. He looked down, the feeling of rage slowly rising in him.

"Get up I said." Rollins barked at him "We haven't got all day."

The Soldier looked up again, furious. Rollins saw his glare, and slapped him across the face with his gun, making his head ring and his nose go numb for a second.

"Give me that look again and you'll need new knee caps. I said _UP_ !" While hearing that, he was gripped tight by two other men who forced him up on his feet, while the buzzing slowly disappeared.

The blonde doctor reappeared with his arm, and while he was held back, she attached the metal appendix back on his shoulder. She interlocked the different parts together, and gave it a final push to adjust it. As usual, as a welcome hug, the arm would throw a whipping lash of pain through his shoulder and neck, and the Soldier moaned in pain.

"Good to go." announced the woman, who then turned back and left the room, followed by her interns.

He was pushed forward, his arms locked his back, towards the doors. They made him walk through several corridors. He did not _know_ them, but something in the walls, the different turns, felt natural to him. They finally arrived to a glass door. By the look of it, he knew the glass was strong, stronger than him. He caught a glimpse of some scratches in the glass. A deep feeling of anger boiled in his guts as he felt the emotions he had that day. The door slid open, to let a room appear. It was all white. The tiled floor, the painted walls. It was small. Four square metres at an optimistic most. A single mattress with white bed sheets and a pillow in the middle of it. A blurred image sprung in front of his eyes. There used to be a chair here. And a bed frame. But both had been taken away from him. For the guards' pleasure, or because someone decided he was _misbehaving_. He was thrown into this room he did not remember, but that still felt familiar to him. The glass door closed, and the lights shut off. Apart from the red led of the surveillance camera up in the ceiling, it was dark.

He handed out his hand, and made it to the wall. His fingers on the painted surface, he made the quick tour around the room. Under his metal fingers, he could feel some scratches on the wall here, or a missing handful of plaster that matched his hand size. He seemed to have throw a lot of fits in this room. He felt it, a lost feeling of anger, of frustration, of agonizing pain, of long sleepless nights. His head was spinning, his mind swimming in a large pool of estranged feelings he knew were his, but did not remember having. He caught himself on the wall. He slowly crawled to the bed, and sat on it. The sheets were clean under his palms. They had a smell of clean.

The light suddenly turned on, and he narrowed his eyes due to the blinding it caused. The door opened, and a rattling sound was heard, before the door closed again. He jumped off the mattress to the entrance. _A plate, a plate, a plate_ ! He knelt, and took off the cardboard cover.

His smile slowly faded away from his face, under the laughs of the guards looking at him through the glass door. In the metal plate there was only a small portion of cold boiled vegetables, that didn't even have any smell. He sat back on his heels, frowning. He had done something wrong. What had he done wrong ? He had failed again. He had failed Pierce. He had failed to help him free the world from misery. _He had failed_. And the small cubes of vegetables were here to make sure he didn't forget this part. Resigned, he slowly took the crooked fork that had been thrown in with the plate. The guards were pointing at him through the door, giggling at his face contorted with guilt. He let his plate down and stood up to face the guards. He punched the glass door to scare them off, but it only managed to make them laugh even more. He grunted, took his plate, and went to sit on the mattress, his back to the door, fuming. He looked down on the sad plate he had been given, and started eating slowly. The vegetables were not really good. To be honest, they barely had any taste at all. He knew those were vegetables, but couldn't tell apart one plant from the others. This cube was orange, this one was of a pale green. He wasn't even sure he could recognize a cabbage if he was presented one.

The guards laughed at him for a couple more minutes, and when they were done, they turned off the light, letting him in almost pitch black. He took each mouthful in silence. The only sounds were his difficult breathing and his wet chewing. The plate was empty pretty soon. He knew he was still hungry. He licked the plate, and tried to ignore the dirty metal taste of it, then he put it next to his mattress. He sighed. He hoped that next mission, he would succeed. He was hungry.

He lied down. His broken ribs complained of the pressure and he yelped at the sudden spike of pain. He sat up. He breathed in slowly once, twice, and lied down in another position, more carefully this time. He waited in the dark for another minute, eyeing the red led of the camera. He was always suspicious at the red dot. He knew they were watching him. He was lying back to the camera, so they wouldn't see his hands. He discreetly ran his flesh fingers alongside his mattress, and found a crack. He inserted his fingers and fiddled around to catch what he was looking for. He finally managed, and took out out a small bird feather. It was one of those really small feathers, the softest ones. It was barely more than an inch long. He slowly took it up to his face, and softly made the feather run on the bridge of his nose, there and back, several times. He didn't even remember what colour it was. He just knew it was here. Every time he lied down, he knew it was here, waiting for him. He didn't really know how it arrived in the Box. He just felt like _he_ had brought it here. Maybe he had it on him. Yes, maybe he had it in his hair. They never wash him straight after a mission. Sometimes they just forgot and launched him in another mission. They would always wash him before the hibernation though.

He caressed his nose with the feather, then the part where the skin was most sensitive. His lips, his eyelids. He held the feather with his metal hand to tickled the tip of his flesh fingers. He smiled a bit. He took the feather in his flesh fingers again. He gently blew at it so it tickled his fingertips one more time. He giggled silently. He ran it one last time against his nose, and hid it back into the mattress. He didn't want the guards to find it. He didn't want Rollins, or Rumlow, or Pierce to find it. It was his. He did not remember how, but it was his.

He closed his eyes. He was tired. He needed to get some rest. He was glad they gave him back his metal arm. He wrapped it around his shoulder, and put his flesh hand over the metal hand.

It was just like someone was hugging him to sleep.

 

* * *

 

 **There we are ! Thank you so much for reading this chapter !** _**Believe me** _ **, this chapter was as painful to write as it probably was to read. If I ever meet Sebastian Stan I'll probably have to apologize with all my heart, I feel so bad right now (TmT)... I hope you like my depiction of the Winter Soldier and of Hydra!  
**

**Please review, it makes me so happy, it really means the world to me ! I know there isn't much right now, only three chapters, but I need all the support I can get ! It also keeps me going when you guys bookmark and/or subscribe to my story, I love to see that you want more ^-^ ! Don't hesitate to PM me or leave a comment to ask me a question about the plot, the characters, anything, I'll be glad to answer :) !**

**Since the doctors are two OCs, you can imagine Claire Deschamps _as_** _**Grey's Anatomy** _ **'s Arizona Robins (in my head it's totally her), and I published a drawing of Wilhelmina Gerhardt on my DA page.**

 **(((If you want more of the Avengers universe and if you know** _**Supernatural**_ **, I am also publishing a X-over of those two ! It's called** _**Demons in New-York** _ **, you can find it on my profile page. It happens before season 7 for SPN and before** _**Civil War** _ **for the Avengers !)))**

**See you next chapter ;) !**

 

**[I AM CURRENTLY REPUBLISHING ON AO3 WHAT IS PUBLISHED ON FF.NET, IF YOU WANT TO READ MORE CHAPTERS, GO CHECK THERE UNTIL I HAVE UPDATED HERE :) !|**


End file.
